Posted by on Oct 18, 2018 in Blog | 1 comment


Jack Underhill

Hormones pretty much run my life. When they get into the bloodstream
on some order from my brain I have as much chance of holding them back from their assignments as the tides. But their assignments can be modified and redirected in specific ways that may serve me better than the monolithic
momentum of genetics. How about docking a measure of the death or aging
hormone into whatever physical or mental aspect that is killing me, say the
unabated passion to work or run or talk or hide or punish?

The sex hormones can be diverted away to an artistic or organizational passion when urges get too obsessive, the tranquilizing or anesthetic hormones, like endorphins, dispatched to painful and debilitating parts of memory or body at will, the metabolic regulators detoured to alternative viscera to slow down some functions and stimulate others, growth hormones too. For example you could shunt hormones that shut down hair follicles on your head over to your back if you are wooly, or to your legs or armpits if you’re a woman, in no way resisting the hormonal directive, just providing slightly altered work orders to the proper ductless glands or other hormone slips. What does your endocrine system know about your specific vision of yourself unless you tell it directly? It’s generically gene-oriented, has no capacity to understand style or editing.

You alone can change this, educate it, you alone have the key to the override system of the autonomic system of your hypothalamus, pituitary and pineal to incline their function to your personal conscious input; you can grow pink hair on your fingertips right now, change the color of your eyes and skin, shut down your gall bladder to let the body dissolve the stones chemically, do the same for any organ afflicted in any way by giving it a rest with conscious commands channeled through the master gland there in the home plate of your head. You can replace brain cells, the big No-no of Science, or develop certain brain areas while reducing others. (“I’m tired of being so smart, organized and responsible, I want to live!!! Let my IQ be halved.”) You are unlimited to what you can do. Give yourself 20/20 vision, dissolve cataracts while you sleep, grow bigger or smaller breasts or nipples, fingers, noses, ears, a more sensitive olfactory system, ream out your lungs of the tars of smoke and emotional stress by your decision alone, your heart of hardening, for this is your body and everything that goes on in it you know down to the last detail.

Make yourself sterile when it serves, and radiantly fertile when you’re ready. You don’t have to remember any of the details of how the trillions of interactions per nanosecond spark, you have only the power of your desire, the power of your omnipotence and imagination, your humor and daring. It comes down to, “Am I brave enough to take such command of my body, for I know I can do all this and more. But do I dare? Do I dare reassume control of my body and mind? My life would never be the same”. This is the healing that the Christ in each of us is capable of. This is the miracle. As long as we go out to the Savior we have only hope working for us, and hope is a New York City taxi driver speaking in tongues. The direction is in to find the Messiah. This is real religion. Anything else is carnival.

“What have you done to yourself?” some guy bellows at his beloved in horror, “where are your Sacaretti tattoos, what’s wrong with your eyes, did you have breast implants since breakfast, a face lift, liposuction and a skin stretch? I can’t stand it, why are you doing this to me?!”
Or, “Daddy, look, I’m as tall as you!”
Dad: “Arghhhh!!!!!!!!!!!”

Or, “Ralph, what, what…Ralph, you’re walking,, you’re looking at me, the
rheum is all gone from your eyes, is that a wig for crissakes?, you’re smiling. God, stay away, stop puckering, I won’t kiss you, back off, I, I…nooooooooooooo.”
“Mona, Mona, Mona…”

Too upsetting to conventional reality and relationships (“I think I’ll be Joseph today. No. Mary?”) to mess around with mastery of our body and mind, but it’s there and anyone can do it. It isn’t done because we don’t want to know about it.

But secretly we can come onto speaking terms with and feel affection and
Camaraderie for our hormones, for the spiritual centers of us that direct them. We can become good buddies where they want to please us and in doing so increasingly please themselves. No good ol’hormone likes to have you hate or resist it. (From “I’m just an ol’ prolactin on assignment from the hypothalamic-hypophyseal portal system, ma’m, ” to, “Heck, let’s round up an’ rope us a GHRF and see what happens here.”)

These spiritual centers are easily accessible once we fess up to it and allow
them to teach us their language. This can be done in dreams or meditation, and always with the clear understanding that each of the millions upon billions of cells in our bodies are not just poor orphans but full-on aspects of ourselves in intimate communication with one another, and everybody else, at all times. The universe of us, and everyone else, is “contained” in a single cell or any part of it, or better said, expressed. The endocrine systems are you, the center of your Universe, the hormones are you, and the effects in any combination too. You are not operated by anything except your faith in being operated by something other than you.

The world is an expression of you, whatever you are aware of is where you are in your mind at that time. You can change the world in an instant, and any part of you, that is your power, your private pilot certificate from God. But maybe you have to work up to it, replace that painful shoulder or knee joint by way of the hormone of Love growing new cartilage and sinovial fluid glands, those painful teeth by having new ones grow in ( “I didn’t get nuthin’ from the Tooth Fairy, Milly.”
“You’re 77 years old, Estes, dammit, now snap out of it!”), those painful memories that eviscerate you, or be masculinely hung the way you always wanted to be (“Oh my God, Frank, I stepped on it, are you alright?, does it hurt? I’m so sorry!”), free yourself from all dependence on other systems of thought and people and beliefs and laws and regulations and religions, just become a goddam Anarchist with love for all of what you are. And this gets around, you know, once you’re free, you feel good and people notice this and it makes them feel good and that gets around too, chain reaction. When they see your new head of hair and aquiline nose they’ll be terrified at first but in time they’ll sidle up and want to know how you did it, and they’ll try it out, and that gets around too.

Hormones are you, your ideas, your beliefs, your fears and pains. Yours. Re-
sculpt them to where they make you laugh outright with amazement. Science says it can’t be done, Religion too, everyone you know, all of historical precedent, the AMA, even the Music of the Spheres, but so what?, they’re just you on a bad day.

Today‘s totally new. Live it up.

One Comment

  1. This reminds me of Celebrity Jeopardy on SNL. The category is Who Reads. Sean Connery says to Trebek, “I’ll take Whore Ads for 200 Alex.”

    Individual experience is all about perspective, I guess… and capitalization and spacing. Maybe something else too, eh? Who nose?

    (Somewhere, far off in the distance, a hormones.)